“Like what?” The sailor kept fairing line, playing it out on the dock in large lines packed against each other, never overlapping.
“Lock him up! That’s what.”
“Never work. He’s got his crew, don’t he. They’d have him out in a jiffy, one way or the other.”
“Then lock up the whole bloody crew.”
The sailor finished fairing the line, stood facing the younger man, “Yes, like what they did in Ba Morton.”
“Where?”
“Exactly. Every pirate ship on the sea and every fighting ship and man of The Black Isle… they didn’t leave a single stone on top of another. They raked the ashes flat. They even planted trees and grasses, so the city would be completely erased.” The old sailor sat on a box. “The way to get a pirate is to kill him at sea. Ships can’t carry a shrine, the crew pops back on shore. Take his ship. Without its ship, the crew breaks up, don’t it. Then nobody will sell to the captain, buy from the captain, he’s landlocked. Torroran’s going to have a hard time of it when he finally looses the Whitecap. Almost feel sorry for the bastard.”
“I don’t,” said the younger sailor.
Torroran walked through the market, strutting; his boot heels clicking on the cobblestones. He had stopped by his safe house, making very sure that he had not been followed. He had changed his clothes for a dry pair of pantaloons, a vest, and boots. He’d filled a pouch with coins and was now entering a bar to celebrate his victory with nobody in particular.
“Round of drinks on me!” Torroran said as he swung open the door.
There was a general turn of heads toward Torroran, some attempt at a cheer from visitors to the city. Many shook their heads in disapproval, a few nodded their thanks. Torroran stepped briskly up to the bar, “Shot of Serpent’s Tears, Trony.”
Entronias, better known as ‘Trony’ or ’barkeep,’ poured the drink, “Caught another fish, have you? Who was it this time, Baskane?”
“Hiegler.”
The door swung open again.
“Well, speak the name of Brigid…,” Trony said. Hiegler was standing in the doorway, a bright new scar across his face, running ear to ear, just under the eyes.
Torroran whirled around, drawing one of his swords and smirking, “Hiegler! Three times this month, and now twice today. I would think you would be tired of dying by now.” The patrons of the bar variously drew their weapons or crouched lower in their seats, ready to flip tables into impromptu barricades.
“Drown it, Torroran! You really have no conception of what you have done.” Hiegler did not draw his weapon, he sighed. “Put your weapon down. Let’s have a drink and talk about it.”
“Well, when you put it like that,” said Torroran, attaching his blade to its accustomed place on his sash, “how can I refuse?” They walked to a booth. “Bottle of Tears and two glasses,” he said over his shoulder to Trony.
“So, you pay for the drinks and talk ‘til your heart’s content, Hiegler”
“Hmph." They sat. Hiegler sighed and looked over to the bar. It was just past noon and several people were having a late lunch. "Ever starved to death, Torroran?” Hiegler asked.
“Can’t say that I have, why?”
“Terrible death,” said Hiegler as the drinks arrived. He poured the drinks into the tiny glasses and swallowed his at a gulp, “lingering, painful at times, affects the mind in a bad way.”
“Sure, but there’s farmland everywhere. You starve and its likely to be through stupidity, so you learn better next time and find some work for some food.” Torroran tossed back his drink.
“And if you can’t move?”
“You mean like in a prison... and can’t kill yourself to get out? Nobody would do that to a prisoner. Everyone would be on them at once. Pirates, military, everybody.”
“One would hope,” Hiegler said as he looked through the side of his empty glass, turning it this way and that. “So here’s the reality: the town of Stone Harbor, down along the east coast, has been surrounded by some sort of monster. Baskane called them Din, from some old myth. Anyway, they burned the crops and are capturing anyone trying to get out, flaying them alive, by some accounts. These dwarves are starving to death, coming back at the town shrine, and starving to death again... and again. These Din are torturing the townspeople. They are bringing hell to earth. So that shipment was going to be replacement for the crops, and the fighting men that your crew just put to shore were going to try to break the siege.
Torroran leaned back heavily in his seat, looked hard at Hiegler and poured himself another drink. He lifted the drink, smelled it, then put it back onto the table. “Where’d you hear this?”
“Baskane,” said Hiegler, “I’d wager my existence on his word.”
“And what’s he doing about the problem?”
“He’s a merchant, not a fighting man.”
“What about the military?” Torroran asked, “Surely they would step in.”
“Nobody with the power to move troops believes the reports. They’ve sent scouts, but those people are suffering now. It will take days, if not weeks, to get the military there.”
“Then yeah... I'd guess we’ve got to do something. If we ride fast, we can go south of the capitol, along the coast, and catch the Whitecap at Mountain Pass.” He drank the shot of Tears. “No time to finish the bottle,” he stood up, “I’ll meet you at the stables south of the city. Be quick.” He left. Heigler raised an eyebrow at Torroran's departing back, then he capped the bottle and tossed some coins on the table.
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